Kamikakushi
by FeatherFoil
Summary: The Boy who Lived disappeared eleven years ago. Nobody ever found him. But now, he's back. Raised and trained in the arts of miracles and godsends, how different would things be? And what about the two weird teachers? And the questionable bodyguard? AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in any way, shape or form. I'm simply using them for my own enjoyment.

Uriel sighed, picking up another piece of paper. Metatron was working all four Archangels to the bone. Not literally, of course. Human analogies were just so silly at times. However, that didn't change the fact that Uriel was absolutely exhausted with all the paperwork that he'd been doing.

Yes, paperwork.

You would think that an Archangel, one of the highest of all heavenly beings, would have a more glorious job such as appearing to mortals during times of great need to help them get past troubles and inner strife. Or at least be able to actually patron what they were named patron angels for. Uriel missed the Louvre. Everything was simply delightful there.

But no, he had to be doing bloody paperwork because Metatron said so.

Heaving another sigh, Uriel picked up the next sheet of paper. Scanning over it, he idly let his mind wander. Aside from being stuck pushing paper, he _still_ hadn't found anyone to take over the project he and Raphael started. Hm. That could prove troublesome, especially for the next seven or so years. Oh joy of joys, he just loved how this day was turning out.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a single line on the document he was now reading. His dark hazel eyes gleamed as they raked over that sentence again and again. A smile began to form on his face. Perfect! This would give him a decent excuse to leave the office once in a while, and also solved the project problem. Now, to tell Raphael…

His hand reached out for the phone (1), arm carefully avoiding the stacks of paper he had so meticulously piled on his mahogany desk. As he picked it up, he could hear the ring as he waited for Raphael to pick up. The Healer was probably busy with a patient, or more likely he was doing paperwork as well. Yes, that seemed the more likely answer.

"Uriel?" There came Raphael's voice. Eight rings later, Uriel noted.

"Raphael. I called to tell you that I take back everything I said before. He's perfect for the job."

Uriel could almost see Raphael's growing smile.

"And that is why I recommended him." There was a small pause. "I'll call him in to discuss this. You can go on with your share of the paperwork now." Another pause, accompanied with what sounded like a large pile of papers being knocked to the floor. Uriel winced in sympathy; Raphael was going to have a hard time cleaning that up. "Could you talk to Harry about it?"

"Harry? Of course." Uriel would call the boy, but it wouldn't be a pleasant meeting. It had been so long since the two had really sat down and actually _talked._ He knew he wasn't as pleasant as Raphael, or even Michael, but it was no excuse for almost flat out ignoring the boy. A little voice at the back of his mind- the voice he had tried to shut out for the past seven years- taunted him _(a great angel, kind and generous creatures, neglecting and by default practically abusing a child) _every single day.

"Thank you. Have a pleasant day." Raphael was struggling to keep his nice tone of voice. Uriel could easily see why. Metatron was not somebody who tolerated tardiness, messiness, or general havoc and unplanned events.

_Click._

Raphael hung up. Uriel set the receiver down, immediately picking it back up. The ring was oh so familiar as he patiently waited for his charge to pick up.

"Hello?"

Ah yes. There he was.

"Harry. I'd like to chat, but it's quite important. Come and see me as soon as you can, and don't forget to bring your letter."

"Right. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Thank you."

Uriel set the phone down and sighed. That had killed five minutes of his time. Now to continue on with paperwork for the next ten minutes. Hopefully, the boy would be flabbergasted long enough for him to skip out on finishing the document sign-and-stamp routine. Highly unlikely (2), but Uriel would savor whatever time he had.

(1) Just because Aziraphale was incompetent with technology did not mean that it was true for every angel. In fact, Uriel and the rest of the Archangels (especially Gabriel) quite liked their telephones and computers and other electronics.

(2) Harry had much more Common Sense than most angels, who were more likely to have Righteous (or possibly Virtuous) Sense. It came in handy when they were doing their jobs, but unfortunately, it wasn't much use anywhere else.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Hastur grinned evilly as he stalked up and down the corridors of Hell. Just wait until that slimy snake Crawly got here. He'd been told not to harm the traitorous serpent, but a little threatening wasn't harmful, was it? Besides, no self respecting demon would let another go without a) harming them, b) utterly destroying them, or c) scaring the bejeesus out of them. Seeing as options a) and b) were locked, Hastur would settle for c).

Finally, the black clad demon strolled along, whistling a tuneless song as he did so. Hastur's smile widened, and he lurked back into the shadows. It wouldn't be long until Crawly came by.

"Crawly…"

Crowley almost jumped at Hastur's raspy voice. But no, he had to show the ugly lug that he wasn't intimidated by him. Then again, that could be suicide seeing as Hastur was a Duke of Hell and Crowley was recently promoted to Shoe Polisher.

"Duke Hastur," Crowley said, eyes darting around behind dark lenses, searching for an easy escape route. When none appeared, he inwardly sighed and prepared himself for whatever it was Hastur was going to do.

"You got orders from Lucifer." Crowley could just see the evil smirk Hastur was probably wearing. Nobody who failed an order from the Morningstar ever came back. This would be perfect.

"Ah, right." Crowley could feel the beads of sweat start to form on his skin. They slid down his face like grains of sand in an hourglass, counting down how much time he had before he was eviscerated by Lucifer. "What are they?"

"Ya know the Chosen One, the Potter kid, right?" Seeing Crowley nod, Hastur continued. As much as he would like to wring the snake's neck, he had orders to make sure the message was passed on properly. He looked back on the chain of orders. He got them from Mammon who got them from Asmodeus who got them from Dagon who wasn't quite sure who he got them from, but Hastur figured it was somebody pretty important. All in good faith(1), really. "The Riddle guy came back, and he's lookin' to hunt the boy. You are going to tempt the boy over to the side of Darkness."

"Me?" Crowley was now much more confused than nervous. "Why me? And why not Riddle instead?"

"They said you was the best one for the job," Hastur spat. "Creatin' original sin and everything. Tempting an angel into almost sinning." Crowley felt himself blush at that. "And Riddle is pathetic. The boy could be much stronger. Besides, the kid knows stuff. Angel stuff. He's dangerous."

"Right, right, got it," Crowley muttered. He was well aware of the child that the angels had adopted. Aziraphale spoke of him too many times for him not to know.

"I'll be going now."

(1) That was a lie. A big fat one. There is no Good Faith in Hell. There isn't much of Good Anything in Hell either. The only good thing would really be Good Torture, and that was only after Beelzebub insisted that good torture was proper torture, and because the Morningstar didn't like anything left unfinished.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Aziraphale uncertainly pushed open the door, half expecting someone or something to leap out at him. He had no idea why he had been summoned by Raphael himself. He was just a Principality, and he hadn't done anything to warrant being called by an Archangel.

The oak door swung open and he peered inside. Raphael was sitting at his desk, meticulously stamping papers, signing other documents and sorting them into neat piles, seemingly at random. He noted the large pile of broken pens at the foot of the desk. The Healer hadn't seem to notice his presence yet, so he patiently waited as Raphael finished up whatever he was doing.

At long last, the red-haired Archangel looked up in mild surprise. "Aziraphale! I didn't notice you were there. Sorry, sorry. Come, sit down." The angel waved his hand, and a very comfortable looking plush chair appeared in front of the desk (1). Cautiously, Aziraphale sat down, still looking highly uncomfortable. After he settled down, he looked up to see that Raphael had gone back to his paperwork.

"Excuse me, but what is this about?" Aziraphale ventured.

"Ah, yes." Raphael stopped what he was doing, looking up at the other angel. "I apologize; I know you're under Gabriel, but this is very important." Seeing Aziraphale's nod, Raphael grinned widely in relief. "So, I'm sure you're aware of the project Uriel and I have started, some ten years ago, am I right?"

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "The one with the boy? Harry Potter?"

Raphael nodded. "Yes. He is beginning his lessons at Hogwarts in about two weeks. He has received his letter, and Uriel and I both think it will be good for him if he would attend. However, we can't let him go alone. He's been cursed when he was younger, and it is dangerous. He'll attract trouble. It's inevitable, you see. (2)"

"I understand," Aziraphale said slowly. "I'm just not sure what I have to do with this."

"Ah, I was getting to that part. You see, with his tendency to get into danger, he needs a guardian angel. Seeing as not many angels tolerate magic, we've been having a hard time finding anyone to take up the job." Raphael looked up at him, completely serious now.

"Aziraphale, I'd like you to become Harry's Guardian Angel."

That seemed to come as quite a shock.

"M-me?" Aziraphale stuttered. "Why me?"

"I recommended you a few days ago, but Uriel said no. I can't recall why, but just now he called me. Said you were perfect for the job." Raphael looked over at him, picking up a piece of paper. "We'd like for you to consider the offer, at least. Both of us are willing to let you take the job." Seeing Aziraphale's nervous look, he quickly added, "You don't have to decide right away. You have a week at the most, since that's when Harry's leaving."

"But, I still don't know why I've got to do it. I mean, there are others who are more qualified, aren't there?"

"There are others who are higher ranked," Raphael corrected. "Uriel and I both think you're the best for the job. You'll have to be promoted to Cherub status, but I don't think Michael will have a problem with that. As for the specific reasons why we asked you to do this…" Raphael looked at the paper in his hand. "For one thing, you are experienced with dealings on Earth. Secondly, we both know you'll be tolerant, if not accepting, of magic."

"May I ask how you came to that conclusion?" Aziraphale asked meekly. Raphael shot him a mischievous grin.

"Well, you do seem to be quite tolerant of demons. Or, a specific demon, I should say."

Aziraphale said nothing, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks. Raphael noted this. "I've been informed that Crawly- Crowley, I mean, is taking the job of trying to tempt Harry."

Aziraphale's head shot up, eyes wide in surprise. "Crowley's coming?" To his embarrassment, he could not hide the eagerness in his voice. "How do you know?"

Raphael frowned, as if he had eaten something vile tasting. Waving an arm dismissively, he said, "It's unimportant. You shouldn't concern yourself with that. Now, you don't have to answer immediately. Uriel and I don't need something solid for the next few days. Take some time to think about it."

But no, Aziraphale had already decided. If Harry was stuck with some other angel, it was highly likely that he'd be blessed and gone within a few days. As much as the serpent annoyed him (and it wasn't as much as he'd like to believe) he didn't want his only partner gone. That would defeat the entire purpose of The Arrangement. He was quite sure that no other demon would be quite as benevolent as Crowley.

"No, I've decided," Aziraphale heard himself say. Raphael perked up, smiling jubilantly.

"Are you sure?" His tone of voice indicated that the Archangel already knew the answer.

"Yes."

"Perfect!" Raphael smiled at Aziraphale, pushing the piece of paper towards him. "Metatron won't be able to say no to an officially signed document. Just write your name, a statement that you agreed, and then you're done. You'll officially be one of the Cherubim and Harry's Guardian Angel."

"That's it?"

Raphael handed Aziraphale the pen he had set down on the table. Aziraphale took it with a small, "Thank you," and signed the paper. In neat handwriting, he finished the last few words of the sentence, and as he finished, the paper glowed a bright yellow. Aziraphale blinked a few times, and the light faded. As his vision cleared, he could see that Raphael's symbol was now superimposed on the parchment.

"Thank you, Aziraphale. I think that's all. You'll be leaving with Harry in a week. King's Cross Station, and the train leaves at 11. Uriel and I will occasionally check how you're doing, but it shouldn't be a problem. I believe you're more than capable of doing the job." Raphael's brown eyes darkened. "Watch out for Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he has called himself. He is hunting for Harry. We've managed to keep him safe for eleven years, but as soon as he leaves Heaven, Harry will be vulnerable."

"I understand," Aziraphale replied simply. He shifted his position, so he was looking directly at Raphael.

"Good." Raphael nodded, taking the pen back from Aziraphale. He looked back down at the stacks of paper sitting on his desk. "I think you should go report to Michael now. If he has any questions, tell him to ask me."

"Right." Aziraphale got up, shuffling anxiously on his feet. "I'll be going now."

Raphael waved absently, already concentrating on his paperwork. Aziraphale waved back uncertainly, before turning around and heading back outside.

(1) Aziraphale was slightly envious of how easily miracles came to the other angels. He had been spending quite a lot of time on Earth, and that didn't lend itself to using too many miracles. That was reserved for divine grace and/or retribution.

(2) Aziraphale half expected Raphael to say ineffable.

____________________________________________________________________________________

The boy with messy black hair and jade green eyes sits on a plastic chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The angel with long dark brown hair in a ponytail and piercing blue eyes stands behind a desk, staring intently at the boy. Neither speaks for a long while. It isn't until the gentle fluttering of feathers that one of them turns their head. The angel has his wings out, but that is not the source of the sound. Whenever he unwinches his wings, it is silent and graceful, not boisterous and loud like many others. No. It was not his wings that make the sound.

It is the boy's.

The angel breaks first.

"Good luck."

The boy, Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World who disappeared the night he was orphaned, nods. It is stiff, formal, cold. Only respect passes from him to the other.

"Thank you."

The boy gets up to leave. The angel, Uriel, Archangel and patron of the arts, watches him, hands clenched into fists. And he thinks.

The door swings shut.

____________________________________________________________________________________

So, this is my first attempt at a major crossover. My writing style will switch between humorous and serious, but I'll try to keep a balance. In general, scenes with Crowley and Aziraphale interacting will be humorous, while Harry with almost any non-human will be serious. Everything else is probably going to be a mix between the two, depending on how the situation turns out.

I'll try to have a regular update schedule, but I'm not sure it's going to last. I am extremely determined not to abandon this story, so if you feel that it's gone quite long without an update, prod me and I'll probably respond.

Well, that is if anybody's interested in this. If you are, I'd really appreciate it if you dropped a review. it isn't necessary, but it'd make me feel a lot better.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: has been done on chapter 1 already.

Crowley swore and kicked at the unresponsive Bentley again. For the past fifteen minutes, he had been a sitting duck in the woods, unable to get his Bentley to budge an inch. Maybe it finally decided that it needed fuel? No, that was preposterous. He'd been going just fine without any sort of petrol for years. There had to be another reason. Maybe it got sick of Crowley doing absolutely ridiculous stunts and tricks with it?

"Move, you piece of junk," he hissed (1). The Bentley sputtered in indignation but refused to do anything else. Crowley was now getting extremely frustrated. His car, his pride and joy, refused to do anything he told it to do, and he had no other way to get up to the bloody castle to go and tempt the Boy who Lived or whatever his fancy title was.

After eight more minutes of useless trash talking and venting, Crowley decided to go back to the old fashioned methods.

That was why he looked like he was trying to push a boulder up a hill when Aziraphale found him.

When the angel stumbled upon the scene, he couldn't help but wonder if his friend's sanity was intact. The car he was so fond of wasn't moving, and he seemed to be roleplaying as Sisyphus. He knew how much the other demon detested the Greeks (2) so he couldn't quite understand why Crowley was doing this.

Aziraphale leaned against a tree and watched in mild, detached, interest as Crowley struggled to force the Bentley to continue through the forest to the castle. Aziraphale lifted his head just a bit more, to see what was beyond Crowley. There was no path, so the angel wondered how Crowley was planning to even continue. Then, he remembered that Crowley could make the Bentley float if he wanted to, and then discarded that thought.

"Crowley," the heavenly (3) being said.

"Aziraphale," Crowley grunted (4). He further acknowledged the other with a nod of his head before he quickly turned his attention back to his stubborn-as-a-mule Bentley.

"That's not going to work, you know." Aziraphale glanced over at the sky; it sure was getting dark. Maybe he should have accepted the transportation that the headmaster so graciously provided? Nah. "No technology works at Hogwarts." He glanced at the demon quizzically. "Didn't anybody tell you?" he asked.

Crowley stared at him for a while. Then, he stared a little more. And a teeny bit more. Then, he _exploded._

"What!" Aziraphale winced at the sheer volume. "Nobody ever told me that!" After a long string of curse words (in which Aziraphale occupied himself by staring at the sky and trying to count how many stars there were), Crowley finally seemed to be out of steam. He was panting from exerting himself. Mentally, Aziraphale applauded the demon. There were at least eighteen words he was unfamiliar with, and after being around Crowley for the past six millennia, that was quite a feat. He lazily wondered where the demon had learned those words.

"Well now," Aziraphale said cheerfully, "I think we had better get to the castle."

With that, he walked over to an interdimensional pocket and stored the useless Bentley inside. It protested half-heartedly, but aside from a few puffs of exhaust smoke to the face, it did nothing to deter the angel from shoving it into a space between dimensions. Crowley just watched on in frustration, anger quickly dissipating.

"Fine," he sighed. The demon cast one last miserable look at the rip in the air, then turned around and marched. Aziraphale had to walk double time to keep up with the (comparably) fit demon. Crowley seemed extremely distressed about having the Bentley away from him. Awkwardly, Aziraphale lifted a hand and patted him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, Crowley. I won't forget where I've put the Bentley. I'll make sure to remember where I've left it this time. And if I do, I'll miracle you a new one, just like before." That seemed to do absolutely nothing to comfort the demon.

"It's not that," Crowley muttered, hanging his head. "It's just that I'm wondering about what else they decided not to tell me." Though Aziraphale could not see his face, he was quite sure that Crowley had the enormous, sad, kicked puppy look on his face at the moment. Aziraphale decided not to point this out, as Crowley had kicked him out of his apartment for months the last time he had said something along those lines. Though he didn't really have any business being at Crowley's apartment, it was nice there. The plants, if nobody else, were quite amicable once you got past their extremely timid (Aziraphale used that word generously) nature.

"My dear, I am sure you'll be fine. How hard can managing a few students be?" Aziraphale paused. "Er… what wereyou teaching again?"

"Herbology," Crowley answered.

"That sounds nice." Aziraphale frowned as he recalled his own teaching position. "I'm doing Defense against the Dark Arts. Sounds dreadfully boring, if you ask me. Dark arts isn't exactly what I'd call simple to teach to a lot of eleven year olds."

"You'll have to teach the other brats too," the serpent muttered.

"Ah, right." Aziraphale decided not to comment on Crowley calling the Children brats. After his experience with Warlock's birthday, he wasn't inclined to disagree. After recalling the incident, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Did they take you off the apocalypse duty?" he queried. Crowley groaned and brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale blinked. What had brought that along?

"They sent Hastur to do it. Ligur is going to be watching me. They say they don't trust me."

"Well, you can't exactly blame them for that, can you? I think Gabriel is going to be taking over my end of the job." Aziraphale was careful to keep the distaste from his voice, though he was less successful with his face. "I think Michael is going to be helping him, but I'm not so sure about that. This was a last minute decision."

"The stuck up, heavenly telephone operator with the big and brainless lump of muscle?" Crowley snorted. "The Anti-christ will come running to Hell in a week." Aziraphale considered this.

"I suppose you may be right."

They continued on in a peaceful silence.

(1) How he managed to do this even if the sentence had no 's' or 'z' anywhere in it will remain a mystery to the world.

(2) It wasn't really their fault. It was just some extremely voyeuristic young followers of Apollo had come across him in a very compromising pose. How were they supposed to know that their leader was the one who tripped of a rock and went sprawling into Crowley? Greek 'mythology' had become quite a sore point after that little event.

(3) He considered himself heavenly, at any rate.

(4) How the demon managed to compress his name into a monosyllabic grunt Aziraphale would never know.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Anybody who would look his way would see a scrawny little boy in a dark coat, holding a bird cage and having a small bag slung over his shoulder. He'd have a blank expression on his face, hair nearly hiding his scar, and he would have been looking around at the different station numbers. Most people would assume he was looking for his parents, and then move on. The boy's mother would come looking for him soon. Or if not, the boy's father would come back, proudly sporting two train tickets in his outstretched hand and a large briefcase in his other.

What nobody else could see was the short wand he kept in his pocket. They would not have seen the Archangel of healing walk the boy along the magical Diagon Alley, the Archangel of repentance following behind, trying to be involved but failing. They would not have seen all the magical knick knacks he bought, along with the whimsically titled textbooks and mystic items. They wouldn't have seen the interdimensional pocket charm that made sure the bag was able to fit in everything he bought, and they wouldn't have seen the two Archangels disappearing with a bright glow from their haloes.

But that was fine with him. The less he was recognized, the better. Raphael (1) had told him he was supposed to be a celebrity of sorts in the Wizarding World, for something he most likely didn't even do. It was absolutely ridiculous, but then again, he had seen stranger things in heaven.

Platform 9 ¾ would be right behind the barrier between platform 10 and 9. However, he couldn't really walk through a solid brick wall without any of the non-magical people watching. It would definitely arouse suspicion, a boy disappearing into what they would see as a solid brick wall. Looking around for other wizarding families would be his best bet, but that was even more difficult. He glanced down at his watch. He had about fifteen minutes before the train left.

A few quick glances around revealed only nonmagical people. This close to the train leaving, it was highly unlikely that any wizards or witches would be dillydallying outside of the train. Sighing, Harry walked up to the barrier, glancing around one last time. This would be the last of anything 'normal' for the next year or so, so he'd be looking forward to making the most of it. Okay, there really wasn't anything to make anything out of, but it had sounded fun in the books that Raphael bought him.

He shuffled back, feeling the cool sensation of the illusion passing over him. Nobody noticed him, and he was soon gone from Muggle London.

When he swiveled his head around, he was surrounded by families and pets and boxes and bags, and everything was in chaos. Some people were crying, others were waving to their children in the train compartments. In all the commotion, nobody noticed the green eyed boy slipping into the train. The sun shone on the bright red paint and his glasses as well, making it hard to see anything. Quickly stumbling inside, he blinked, trying to figure out where he was.

The compartment was nearly empty, except for two girls. They didn't speak with each other, though the atmosphere in the compartment made it clear that they were comfortable with the silence. One girl looked vaguely asian, with slanted dark eyes and straight brown-black hair. She had a cage with a large reddish brown owl in it, and was apparently very fond of it. The cage was decorated with shiny jewels (that looked quite fake to Harry) and other knick knacks.

A sharp contrast to the other girl, Harry noted. She had frizzy brown hair, and was quite short. Her brown eyes were narrow, standing out in her pale, round face. She held a book in one hand, and it was open on a page that Harry saw was entitled The Founders. He didn't particularly know what that meant, and he wasn't really inclined to find out.

This wasn't the ideal situation he would have liked to be in, but it was convenient. Uriel always told him to go with whatever was at hand. He'd be more likely to come across full compartments and likely have no place to sit if he went searching for other compartments now. So, he'd settle for the car with a lot of seats available, so he could stay away from the other two girls.

"Excuse me," he said. "May I sit here?" The two girls looked up at him. They were obviously intrigued. "This was the first empty compartment I found." Well, it wasn't a lie. He didn't go searching through the other compartments, but figured that he could make it sound like that.

"Okay," the first girl said. The other nodded, but quickly returned to her book. She seemed insecure around him, and he couldn't exactly fault her for that. Living around angels for most of one's life would have that effect on people. He even earned wings. It was highly unlikely that somebody could stand the effects of the heavenly aura without feeling the least bit uncomfortable.

"I'm Cho Chang." The other girl extended a hand out, smiling at him, though it flickered on her face for a short while. Harry nodded, and took the offered appendage.

"Hermione Granger," the other girl said nervously. "I'm going in first year. Are you a first year too?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm Harry."

Cho's eyes widened for a while, but she didn't say anything. Hermione smiled, and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Harry." She grinned. "What house do you want to be in?"

"House?" His brow furrowed. He hadn't heard anything of it from Raphael or Uriel, so he assumed they didn't k now either. It sounded interesting.

"You don't know the houses?" Hermione gestured for him to come closer, and she opened up a page in her book. He looked over the yellowing paper, mildly surprised to see four faces staring up at him. They were smiling, laughing, and appeared to be having a great time.

"Those are the founders of Hogwarts," Cho explained. "Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helena Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin." The last name was spoken as if Cho had bitten into a very foul tasting substance. "They created Hogwarts a long time ago, for magical people." She flashed him a smile. "Though I'm sure you've already figured that out."

Harry snorted. "Right. But what houses?"

"The four founders decided to create four different houses, based on personality and traits they themselves had," Hermione continued. "Gryffindor was for the brave and determined. Ravenclaw is for the smart and the studious, Slytherin is for the ambitious and cunning, while Hufflepuff takes in everyone else. At the beginning of the year, all first years are going to be put in a house by the Sorting Hat."

"A hat?" Harry was (with good reason) extremely skeptical. How could a piece of headgear decide where he was going to live for the next seven years? It sounded completely preposterous, but then again, he believed that people who sinned would get thrown in a gigantic prison that operated more like a city. He really wasn't in any position to not believe that a hat could place him wherever it wanted to.

"The Sorting Hat is sentient," Hermione insisted. "I read about it, and a few years after Hogwarts was formed, Godric Gryffindor decided that they needed a way to decide which students would go in which house. There were a lot of fights about it before, you see." Hermione turned the page, and there was a full page, colored illustration of the Sorting Hat.

"Mmhm," Cho agreed. "Which house do you think you'll end up in? I was sorted in Ravenclaw." She seemed immensely proud of this fact, as evidenced by her bright smile.

Harry considered the question. He was sure Raphael would have wanted him to go to Hufflepuff, what with the accept everyone theme they had. However, he knew he was more inclined towards Slytherin, or maybe even Ravenclaw himself. There was a slim change he would end up in Gryffindor, but he thought it was highly unlikely that he'd be put- Sorted, he reminded himself- in Hufflepuff.

"I don't know. Where do you want to go, Hermione?" He casually deflected the conversation towards the brunette, giving her a small smile. Her cheeks reddened and she ducked back down into her book. Eyes stared determinedly at the pages, not looking up.

"Um, I'd like to end up in Ravenclaw, or maybe Gryffindor," she mumbled. Cho smiled at her. Hesitantly, Hermione lowered the book and flashed a tiny grin as well.

"That's great, Hermione! I'm sure you'll be a shoe-in for Ravenclaw. But you'll do great in the other houses." The vile-tasting substance look was back on Cho's face. "As long as it's not Slytherin."

Now, Harry was interested.

"What's wrong with Slytherin? It's only for ambitious people, isn't it? What's so wrong about that?" Whatever this was about, it couldn't be good.

"Every single dark wizard or witch that has ever existed came from Slytherin." Cho looked distastefully at the description of the Slytherin house in the book Hermione was holding. "Especially the worst. You-Know-Who was one of Slytherin's best students when he was inn Hogwarts."

"Voldem-" Harry was quickly interrupted by Hermione, and a somewhat pale Cho.

"Most people in the Magical World don't say his true name, Harry," Hermione gently explained. "They don't like it. Names have a lot of power, especially when summoning people or creatures. It's dangerous for everyone. Summoning can be very imprecise, and speaking a name could easily summon whatever it was to anywhere in the globe. That's why not so many people choose to speak his name."

"Well, that makes sense," Harry muttered. But now, Cho was looking at him in renewed interest.

"Speaking of You-Know-Who…" Harry resisted the urge to groan. He knew what was coming next. "You wouldn't be Harry Potter, would you? The Boy Who Lived?"

Harry had two options. He could pretend to not know what she was talking about, or he could confess. Neither option was appealing. He'd have to come up with a very convincing lie to be able to pull of option 1, and option 2 could get him a lot of publicity and attention he didn't deserve or need. However, he felt that he could bear with the attention. he could always act like a complete prick in order to keep people away from him.

"Yes," he reluctantly admitted. "I am."

If possible, Cho's eyes widened even more, and Hermione's jaw dropped open. He grimaced; this was the exact reaction that he'd wanted to avoid. At least they hadn't started screaming or shouting about him. Yet. He'd have to be ready to make a quick escape.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "You're really Harry Potter. You're really him."

Harry grit his teeth. "Yeah, I think we established that."

"Well," Cho laughed, "this school year is going to be very interesting, wouldn't you think?" Harry pulled a strained smile.

"Yeah." Cho and Hermione both seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Sorry, but if word gets out, I think you're going to be bombarded by a bunch of people." Cho looked up at him after finishing her sentence. "But if it makes you feel better, we won't care. You're nice, and we don't mind if you're the Boy Who Lived or whatever."

"Yeah. You're our friend," Hermione stated boldly. Then, she seemed to realize what she had said, and blushed again. "Er, that is, if you want to be our friend."

Harry smiled, a real smile this time. "Yeah. I'd like to be your friend. It sounds nice."

"Then we agree. We're all going to be friends, no matter what houses you two are going to end up in," Cho said jubilantly. Hermione eagerly nodded, relief and a great amount of joy on her face. Harry noted this carefully; maybe she didn't have many friends when she was younger. With her sitting around reading all the time, it wouldn't be too surprising.

"Deal."

The door to their compartment opened. A smiling, stout lady pushing along a silver trolley. She beamed at the three young children. "Anything you'd like?"

"I'll take some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for the three of us," Cho said. Hermione made a move to stop her, as if she would rather pay for herself. Cho stopped her with a wave of her hand. "Don't bother. We're all friends, right?"

With their candy, they spent the rest of the train ride in happy chatter and laughter.

(1) Whom he secretly thought of as his mother (2). He had to desperately resist the urge to call him that in front of the other angels, because he knew how much it would humiliate his caretaker.

(2) Uriel was Dad, but only because nobody else would have tried to take care of him. He wasn't close to the other Archangel, but he had always felt a certain connection with him due to the fact that Uriel was the first to wander across him as an infant.

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That's the second chapter. Thanks to **AirElemental101** for a review, and to **Fassalla**, **FoenFyre**, **Seraph in Flight**, **MissMom**, and **panther73110 **for putting this story on their favorites, alerts, or author alerts and favorite author. Thanks a lot!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Thanks for all the alerts, faves, and reviews everyone. It really motivated me to get this next chapter out soon. And 200 hits already make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Thank you so much for this enormous boost. I'll try and keep chapter quality up, maybe make it a little longer. You're great readers.

Oh, and I have a very important notice at the end of the chapter. Anyway, small question. Who's looking forward to seeing Crowley as a Herbology professor?

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was seated at the staff table, alongside the other teachers. There were two others who were missing. Professor Anthony Crowley and Professor Fell. Respectively, they'd be taking the Herbology and Defense against the Dark Arts positions. Pomona would be assisting Poppy in the Infirmary, growing magical herbs and remedies to help with Poppy's vastly depleted storage. He had received letters that both were qualified to teach, so he wasn't worried about that. What he was worried about was whether the two of them would last their first year at Hogwarts. Their employers seemed to imply that they would have a few difficulties in getting along, or at least, that was what Mr. Haste said. Dr. Hakim was quite adamant that he thought the two would get along fairly well. The mystery wasn't going to be solved either way.

And then, there was the matter of the 'Bodyguard'. Mr. League was a colleague of Mr. Haste, and he was being sent over to watch over the students. This seemed extremely unnecessary, in his own humble opinion, but he did need to build good relations with the organization Mr. Haste worked for. What was it called now? Ah yes, Caos' Inferno. They were apparently a very influential agency in Italy, especially in the area near the previous magical section of Pompeii. They made most of their business in hiring out bodyguards for those who ask for one.

On the other hand, Dr. Hakim, Professor Fell's employer, worked in a self-started clinic for treating injuries. From what Albus could gather, he started and ran India's equivalent of St. Mungo's. Figuring such a business to be extremely reputable, he did not question the application sent his way by Professor Fell. Fell apparently was a consultant for those who were injured by demonic means, which was also part of the sixth year's curriculum, If Dumbledore was not mistaken. He couldn't go wrong in hiring somebody who obviously knew their line of work.

Then, back to Caos' Inferno. Professor Crowley was the best herbology expert they had. He had the best record with plants, working from those fabled to have come from the magical Garden of Eden (1) to more mundane muggle plants. There were a few concerns, such as his frequent bouts of illness during winter (2), but that did little to deter Albus. He was by far the most qualified to become Herbology professor.

Considering the three new arrivals, he didn't notice he was being spoken to until Minerva was practically shouting his name. He snapped out of his reverie just in time to see her, red faced and eyes narrowed dangerously. He made his eyes twinkle and shine, and gave her a wide smile.

"I apologize, I was merely thinking about what would look best with my new robes." Minerva scrutinized him for a moment, to which he responded by making his smile wider. She huffed, and then turned away from him, though she still continued to address him.

"The students will be arriving soon. What preparations should we make for Potter? Who knows what he's going to be like." Minerva couldn't help but notice Severus' scowl as soon as the topic came up. "He said he would accept the offer to learn at Hogwarts. What should we do?"

"Nothing, Minerva," Dumbledore responded, still smiling. Seeing the questions before they escaped from her throat, he quickly continued. "He deserves to be treated like a normal boy. He's still eleven, after all. It would overwhelm him to have something too big. He is going to have enough trouble at the sorting as is. It would be cruel to thrust the boy into something this large upon his first day in Hogwarts. We can't even guarantee that he was exposed to magic during the time he was… missing."

"I suppose that makes sense," she muttered. She turned away again, this time gazing at the doors. "If Hagrid follows the schedule, the students should arrive in less than fifteen minutes. Do you think the new teachers are going to make it in time?"

"I have full confidence in the two of them. And Mr. League, the guard they sent along with them. They will arrive in time."

"Hmph."

As if right on cue, the wooden doors leading to the Great Hall opened. All heads at the staff table immediately snapped to the left to glance at whoever had the nerve to show up so late (or in the case of the students, so early) into the evening.

Why, it was none other than Mr. League, of course. (3)

"Good evening, Mr. League," Albus said cheerfully. "I trust you had a good journey."

"Yeah," the figure muttered. "Real pleasant. Had a jolly good time in getting here." He glanced up at them suspiciously, shifting uneasily from one foot to the next. "Who are ya all? I mean, I know some of ye, but I don't remember any faces."

"Ah yes." Albus smiled at their new guard. He would most likely be extremely confused, seeing as he had hardly spent any time in Scotland. He mostly worked for the company's branch in Lower Tadfield. From what he could gather, it was a small area, and Mr. League probably had contact with only a few people. Namely, whoever his previous charges were. It would be unlikely that he would have ever encountered more than 50 people at a time. However, Caos' Inferno was well known for its credibility.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, the HEadmaster of Hogwarts. This is Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher, as well as being the head of the Gryffindor house. To my left is Severus Snape, Potions Master and head of the Slytherin House. Then, we have Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout, our two healers. In addition, Pomona is also the head of the Hufflepuff house. Then, Filius Flitwick, Charms teacher and head of Ravenclaw."

And so the introductions went, Mr. League looking more and more confused as time went on. He was beginning to think that Hastur made things sound so much easier when he persuaded (forced) Ligur into taking the job. Conniving, lying cheat. However, the conniving lying cheat had already reported his acceptance to the Morningstar, so there was no changing anything now. And all Hastur had to do was make sure the bratty kid accepted his father's proposal and helped Hell win the war against Heaven and all their bloody angels.

Sometimes, life really wasn't fair for Ligur, Duke of Hell.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it sooner or later," the man, Dumbledore, said with a sympathetic smile. Ligur had to physically resist the urge to call down a rain of brimstone because that smile looked exactly like the angel's smile, the one that Crawly spent all his time with (5). He just barely managed to restrain himself as the idiot wizard gave him his orders.

He was going to watch over the entire hall for tonight, because all the students would be packed in the Great Hall for the opening feast. Then, he'd go and guard the Gryffindor common room, standing guard outside the painting (that apparently moved and talked and asked people for passwords whenever they wanted to go inside. Ligur had a feeling he would absolutely hate it.) Then, he'd stay on guard during all meal times, and change the houses every night. Seemed reasonable enough.

Of course, that would be reasonable if he had any intention at all of guarding the brats.

And also of course, nobody needed to know that.

Too bad for the demon that Snape was a Legilimens.

And too bad for snape that Ligur was a demon.

(1) Dumbledore could not quite understand why there seemed to be a hesitation and pause before this was written. Surely anybody with such credentials would be eager to list them down.

(2) Perhaps he was part ifrit?

(3) You didn't really expect Crowley and Aziraphale, did you? They're still stuck in the woods, remember? Even if they could miracle themselves up to the castle, it's sort of like apparition, isn't it? They'd have to find their own way into Hogwarts that involves getting past the Giant Squid. And they'd probably be arguing. (4)

(4) Speaking of which…

"Crowley, I think it's _that_ way."

"No it issssn't! I know it's _this_ way!"

"I'm not so sure. That rock does look awfully familiar, wouldn't you say?"

"It's a bloody rock! They all look the same."

"I really think we should backtrack now. I think we should have made a left turn going after passing the stump that looks a lot like a fish."

"It did not look like a fish, angel."

"It did."

"Did not."

"Yes, it did."

"No it didn't."

"It did!"

"No!"

"Yes! ...Erm… Crowley, dear, do you think there should be a gigantic tentacle sticking out of the water? Of a _lake_?"

"I'm getting a migraine."

"Here, take some of these."

"Thankssss."

"Not a problem, Crowley. Even if I'm useless with remembering everything else, I know where I keep my aspirin."

"…"

"Oh, and your Bentley, of course."

"Of course."

(5) As it was, the humans only saw his arm twitch, as though he was a horse shaking of a fly with the strength of will of a limpet.

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Harry finished off the last of his Chocolate Frogs. Cho had bought them for him over an hour ago, and with all the chitchat between the three of them, there was hardly enough time to eat. There was this one time that Hermione made the mistake of eating a handful of beans while Cho was relating one of her experiences over the summer. The beans were no problem (1). However, Cho's anecdote very nearly made Hermione choke because the girl was laughing so hard. After that, Harry was very careful to time his bites perfectly.

"I think you had better change into your robes. We're going to be in Hogwarts pretty soon," Cho said. She glanced out the window again, and both Harry and Hermione followed her gaze. It didn't look like there was anything different to them, except for maybe the fact that the train was travelling a teensy bit slower than before. Hermione risked a glance at Harry.

"Erm, Harry?" He turned his head at the question in Hermione's voice. "Would you mind if…" She looked uncomfortable. "…you left the compartment for a while? I mean, I'm going to be changing, and…"

Harry nodded quickly, not wanting to give his mind time to think about what Hermione was implying. He spun around without a word, trying to think of anything besides what he was going to think of (2). Grabbing his robes, he quickly left, headed to the bathroom to change.

Meandering past compartments with little more than a nod of acknowledgement, he quickly found a place where he could change. It was small, only big enough for three people at the most, but it would be suitable for him. Dusty brown walls, a window (thankfully with really thick curtains), and a two cubicles. A sink was positioned on the wall next to the one holding the doorframe, a little porcelain thing with a cracked mirror.

There was also a red headed boy. Three of them, actually.

(1) The flavors were three different flavors of rock sugar.

(2) If Raphael had any idea what he was thinking of, Harry would probably have gotten a solid smack on the back of his head and a stern lecture.

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An eleven year old Adam sighed. His birthday was just over, but nothing exciting had happened. He got a new dog, yes, but that was it. Dog was nice, but he was way too lazy to actually do anything, and that included playing fetch or even bite Mr. Tyler's new fancy pants.

There were three new people in the little town of Lower Tadfield, but Wensley and Brian and Pepper were all busy with their own things. Pepper's sister was free, but she was too annoying and too happy and too bossy to take along with him. Besides, she wasn't part of the Them.

Speaking of the new arrivals…

"Hello Adam," Mr. Courier said. His voice held about as much emotion as a dead fish, and Adam had quickly established that he didn't like that sort of voice. It made people sound dead when they spoke. His face wasn't much better either. However, there was a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes, which gave Adam a sparkle of hope that Mr. Courier wasn't as emotionless as a brick gone suicidal-emo (1).

"Hullo Mr. Courier," Adam recited dully.

"How've you been doing? Keeping up with your studies?" He sounded like he was reading something from a script. (2) Not even acting. Just reading, pronouncing letter combinations that happened to have a meaning. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Mr. Courier, 's hollydays. I dun wanna study in the hollydays." Adam made a face as he thought about school. "And 'm havin' fun."

"Where are your friends?" Mr. Courier's face definitely said that he wouldn't care if they were eaten by giant balloon dogs and digested in a pool of lime jello. The young boy definitely knew something was up when Mr. Courier was asking about his friends.

"Why're you askin' me? Wensley said he was gonna go look for you."

Mr. Courier frowned, looking as if he were recalling a particularly unpleasant memory. He said his next words carefully, as if saying the wrong thing could trigger the end of the world (5). He glanced around before seriously staring at Adam again, not that he had any other setting than serious.

"Mike said he would take care of things himself," Mr. Courier said with a little hint of distaste in his voice. Mike was also one of the newcomers. His full name was Mike Rogue, but he wanted people to call him by his first name. He worked at the same place as Mr. Courier, but from what Adam could gather, they didn't get along very well. he understood perfectly; he and Brian and Wensley and Pepper sometimes had little fights, but they liked staying with each other, so they were actually really close friends after all.

"Okay. Whassee doing?"

"I believe he's reorganizing his supply cabinet." Mr. Courier's lip curled into a sneer. "Wensleydale wanted to help him so I left the two of them to it."

"Oh."

(1) Whatever the word meant. He heard Wensley using it when he was talking about his cousin Ateresia. She sounded terribly boring and grown-uppish, so Adam didn't bother paying any more attention after he had found out about that fact.

(2) He actually was. Earlier, he badgered Uriel into writing him a script (3) so he wouldn't mess up completely and ruin all chances of convincing Adam to their side. Uriel was dropping them against the sky even as he spoke.

(3) Uriel had put off the task until he saw that Gabriel was actually talking to the anti-Christ. There was no way that Uriel had any intention of piling any more work onto his already overflowing desk (4) until it was absolutely necessary. Ultimately, that meant procrastination.

(4) The only reason it was overflowing was that he would be taking Gabriel's workload and Raphael would be taking Michael's. Suddenly, the idea to send the two of them out to convince the boy over to the side of Heaven didn't sound as appealing as it did a few hours ago.

(5) If it made Adam angry enough, yes, it could.

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"So, we have to take this boat?"

"It would appear so, Crowley." The angel glanced around for the eighth time that minute. "There doesn't seem to be anything else around here that would help us. And we had better hurry too. The children should be arriving at the castle soon, and we wouldn't want to be late."

"We wouldn't want to show up at all," Crowley muttered. Aziraphale gave him a warning glance. Crowley just shrugged and got on the boat. "Fine, fine." He huffed. "You angels can get so bloody touchy."

"I am not touchy," Aziraphale said crossly. He climbed into the small raft that was barely big enough to hold the two of them. Even as he did so, he managed to seat himself in such a manner that he was not touching the serpent demon, or looking at him. Crowley sighed something that sounded like, "exactly what I said" but Aziraphale ignored it.

As soon as the two were inside, the boat set off. By itself. Without the two of them doing anything.

Crowley nearly hissed at the abrupt use of magic. Granted, the boat was probably enchanted all this time, but there was little comfort in that knowledge. Stupid magic, he thought, stupidstupidstupid…. If he had his way, the whole castle would be gone in three seconds, consumed by hellfire and an open flaming maw swallowing and dragging the whole thing down into the very cesspits of Hell (1). And gnawed on by the most rabid of hellhounds that Hell could possibly offer.

Aziraphale meanwhile, was silently bemoaning his fate. Why did he have to get stuck with Crowley of all things? If there was Raphael or Uriel here, they probably would have answered, 'Because he's the only demon that won't incinerate you on sight.' However, since they were not, it left Aziraphale at a loss. Then, of course, there was also the fact that the two Archangels had assigned Gabriel and Michael to take care of his precious books. His bookshop would be gone within three days.

The rest of the boat trip passed in silence. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't pleasant, just silence. Like the silence that comes after realizing something of great importance, blended into something nice and creamy with the silence of mourning. For Crowley, it was the silence of frustration, plain and simple. Oh, and a little dash of silence of a homicidal person. Yes, that would be the perfect Crowley's Silence at the moment.

They reached the castle undisturbed, though they did see the humongous tentacle sticking out of the water again. Crowley resisted the urge to scream profanities at it, mostly because he wanted to save his frustration for the headmaster of the school. Aziraphale, seeing that Crowley was behaving, didn't give him a mini-lecture on the importance of blending in.

The end of their journey neared, and the magnificent castle was already looming over them. The castle had come up earlier, but both were too preoccupied with their respective brooding to notice. Now that they had a chance to actually see the thing, it did come as quite a bit of a surprise. Who knew that humans could build something that looked just as awe-inspiring as the Heavenly palace (2)?

"Well," Aziraphale said, finally throwing a big lump of coal into the perfect pool of silence they were drowning in earlier. "It appears that we're done here."

"Yeah," Crowley said. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he leaped over the edge of the boat, landing perfectly onto the ground five feet away from the boat. Aziraphale looked this over with a raised eyebrow.

"Crowley, my dear, jumping two meters out of a moving boat is generally not seen as typical human behavior." Aziraphale gave him a stern glance, even as he stepped onto dry land. "We need to blend in. We are not heavenly and occult beings, we are humans for the duration of this assignment."

"Fine," Crowley said. "Whatever."

As per their instructions, they were to enter through a door to the right of where they landed. A quick look around from Crowley quickly revealed their personal entrance, and the two of them entered. Somebody named Filius Flitwick was to escort them to the Great Hall to meet with the other members of the staff, but there was nobody there. Gathering that they had arrived late, they thought no more of it.

The passage was short, and they were soon out in an open corridor. They would take three lefts and a right, then two more lefts and continue walking straight until they reached a hallway that had three doors on the right. Take the one in the middle and they would end up in the Great Hall. They followed these instructions without much trouble. At least they had directions this time.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "So, this is it?"

Aziraphale nodded, and looked down at the paper. "It does say the door in the middle."

"But it also says Great Hall, right?"

"Yes, it does."

"Doesn't look so great from here."

"I must admit, it does look rather small for a great hall. It looks too small to be a hall, at any rate. More like a bedroom."

"Mmhm."

The two were staring at a doorway that was about half their height.

"Do we go in?"

"I think we have to. Besides, we're late."

"Yes, but won't it be more polite to wait outside until everyone's done? It's rude to barge in in the middle of dinner."

"Forget about politeness. Come on, angel."

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm and kicked the doors open. There was abruptly a very large bang as the two very heavy wooden doors swung open. Aziraphale wrenched his arm away and glared at Crowley, about to go on a tirade about his impulsiveness and stubbornness and lack of manners. Crowley's mind, however, was on other matters. Like the fact that Ligur was sitting at the staff table. And that there were a thousand plus kids staring at him. That there were about twelve members of the staff glaring at him. And that there was an old man with a white beard and seemingly bejeweled eyes that was smiling and wearing woolen earmuffs.

That was when Aziraphale picked up on the fact that they were being stared at. He blushed.

Ligur smiled. Viciously. Though, the effect was lost when he brought his hands up to stop his head from vibrating.

Crowley sighed, wondering what he had done to deserve this.

(1) You know it's serious when Crowley says the cesspits of Hell. Hell doesn't have any; everything is a cesspit.

(2) Or, in Crowley's opinion, better than the Heavenly Palace?

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**Notice: **I'm looking for a beta reader for this story. I'm having some problems keeping Aziraphale and Crowley in character, and some Harry Potter canon issues. I'm brushing up on the Harry Potter series again, just to make sure that there weren't any things that I had missed or messed up on, but it's going to take a while. In the mean time, I'd like a beta reader who's familiar with the canon universes of both Harry Potter and Good Omens.

And thanks again for all the favorites and alerts!


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